Wings of Madness: Alberto Santos-Dumont and the Invention of
Flight
By Paul Hoffman
Hyperion
HC, 369 pg. US$24.95/C$36.95
ISBN: 0-7868-6659-4
A passion for life and flight
By Steven Martinovich
web posted July 7, 2003
Mention the name Alberto Santos-Dumont in Brazil and there's a
good chance you'll be greeted with a smile and the argument that
it was he, and not the Wright brothers, who was the first person
to fly an airplane. The large number of streets and buildings
named after Santos-Dumont bares testament to the fact that
Brazilians believe as fervently as Santos-Dumont did himself that
he had been robbed of his glory of being the first man to conquer
the sky in a heavier than air machine.
As Paul Hoffman's Wings of Madness: Alberto Santos-Dumont
and the Invention of Flight aptly illustrates, Santos-Dumont may
have not been the first person to fly an airplane but his story is no
less compelling. Equal parts genius and eccentric, with a
generous measure of flamboyance thrown in for good measure,
Santos-Dumont was the very personification of the colorful men
we imagine who threw themselves into the air.
Santos-Dumont's story begins in Brazil where he was born into
wealth and interested at in early age in mechanics and flight. He
arrived in Paris, the epicenter of ballooning, in 1891 at the age of
18 and a few years later took his first flight. By 1898 he began
designing his own balloons, ones powered by small engines and
were capable -- usually -- of being steered. Through constant
refinement and trial and error Santos-Dumont pushed the
envelope of what balloons were capable. It wasn't surprising that
he believed the potential for powered balloon flight was
unlimited.
It's tempting to think of ballooning as a gentleman's sport but the
reality was it was a very dangerous hobby. By the time Santos-
Dumont entered the field hundreds of people had died in horrific
crashes, explosions or falls. He himself had survived several
narrow escapes and quickly developed the reputation of a
daredevil. Contemporary newspaper accounts chronicled his
adventures and he soon became famous across the world for his
achievements -- not to mention for living to talk about his
occasional crash landing onto the property of the well-to-do or
the roofs of the more humble.
The playful side of the driven Santos-Dumont occasionally
comes out in Hoffman's story. He delighted in one of his airships
that served as a personal craft, flying it around Paris and parking
it his favorite restaurant or in front of his home. He also thrived
on competition, though he was so far ahead of everyone else that
it seemed he was alone in his own race, and demanded of
himself that he be the first to set a new mark.
Unfortunately for him, while Santos-Dumont was working with
lighter than air, the Wright brothers were experimenting with
powered heavier than air flight. In 1903 they flew their plane in
secret -- so secret that when Santos-Dumont took his first flight
in 1906 it was believed he had been the first to achieve the feat.
When the Wright brothers managed to convince even the most
nationalist Frenchman of their case Santos-Dumont's mainstream
fame evaporated quickly. He eventually fell into a world of
depression and ill-health, exacerbated by the knowledge that
aircraft, both balloon and airplanes, were being used for warfare
instead of bringing the world closer together.
That Santos-Dumont wasn't the first to fly an airplane doesn't
make his story any less vital to the history of aviation. As Wings
of Madness proves, Santos-Dumont's greatest contribution may
have been more important than a simple date. His single-minded
devotion to aviation and the benefits it would bring humanity
inspired others to believe in the future of flight. Hoffman's
touching account of Santos-Dumont's life and achievements does
justice to a man that proved life isn't always about who crosses
the finish line first but sometimes how he ran the race.
Steven Martinovich is a freelance writer in Sudbury, Ontario.
Enter Stage Right -- http://www.enterstageright.com